Points Behind Bars - Dustin Vado

It is the point of five,
The tip of the spear,
    The sharp of the heart,
    And crown of liberty
        That reflects my true form: white and black
            Like prison garb
        Keeping birds caged
    And free of abstraction.
I put my hand to my heart
When I look at it
    Unfurled in smoke,
    Together in bondage
        To idealism and desire for format
            Without structure
        Or judgement of the source
    Of regrets hanging
With the air.
It is the point of five,
    The sword of justice
    Raised in salute to right
        On the pile of wrongs assembled in preparation
            For burial
        In unmarked ditches.
    It is the bars of 13
That wrap themselves
Around in defense of the points
     five
Ensuring the blade of righteousness
    Safe passage
To hearts without.
    It is the bars of 13
        That confuse
            Those with no microwaves
Or bars to embrace their sheep
    And protect them from robots.
In a platoon of fifty,
    The points stand rigid for battle.
        Without face to hang a beard
            Or eyes to cry tears
                For the wrongs piled to the right
                    Or the creaking wisdom
                        Of infinite night.
Death wrapped in bars, my hand on my heart.